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build—again, not saying much. She didn’t have anything in
her hands, no visible weapon at all, just a great big smile full
of smoldering madness.
“As I ran, the bones of my mind were beginning to snap
and rub together. Little bits of pain began to pop and crunch
inside my head. The insanity that had taken hold of the
world was trying to get to me, smashing its shoulder against
the door of my mind, but something wouldn’t budge. Some
piece of stubborn sanity had propped itself against the door,
firmly holding it shut, forcing me into the role of a lost
sunbeam wandering a night that wouldn’t end. I knew the
woman had been sent for me.
“She was going to put me with all the other newly
outdated relics—sunshine, morning strolls, coffee dates,
and all the other staples of the previously ordinary world. I
prayed for a breakdown, for my mind to split open and start
spilling hordes of flying, headless clowns into the sky, but
it just wouldn’t happen. That’s when I discovered one small
sliver of notable change—I was hungry. I hadn’t been for
weeks. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be. It wasn’t part of my
script. I’m sure I was intended to busily pile dung beetles
into mile-high pyramids or something crazy like that, but all
I really wanted to do was eat.
“A falling foot hit me directly on the head, and I had to
slow down. I stumbled into the doorway of a laundromat.
The crashing of blood-soaked limbs beat a wicked rhythm
on the roof. It was like God was using the top of the city as a
gigantic bongo drum. I moved away from the large windows
at the front of the place, giving me a far better view of the
chaos outside than I was comfortable with. Namely, Sneaker
Lady came strolling through the downpour.
“She just calmly walked toward the laundromat, smiling
her nuttiness into a world already clogged with the stuff,
staring at me through the gore and glass. The ‘rain’ still
avoided her like the plague. As she moved closer to the
windows, blood started dripping from the ceiling tiles, and
140 | Mark Anzalone